


The Golden God

by sweetlykhal



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Magic, Bill is insane and a little cruel, But for Good Reason, Demons, Dipper goes by Mason, Gods, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, The twins live in Gravity Falls full time, Witchcraft, Witches, basically he acts like a demon, but fret not, but imagine it's here, but not until we get past the first bit?, i can't put the eye emoji in here, it will ease up eventually when, part of me thinks this is going to be cute, things happen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-09-28 15:47:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20428442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetlykhal/pseuds/sweetlykhal
Summary: Mason Pines, weeks from eighteen, is one of the most powerful mages of his age, as well as the most prone to trouble. His odd obsession with the forest surrounding the town leaves others wary of the darker Pines twin.Mason meets him on the edge of twilight, hidden in the trees.Cipher.Life becomes a swirl of explosive magic, bruising touches, and godly memories, and Mason is unsure if he's fit to survive it.





	1. Prologue

The forest sings to him. Not a song, per-say. More of a lullaby- hummed in the wind through the underbrush and the brook over stones.

This is when the forest is pleasant, bathed in gilded light and warmth, this is during the day, when the terrors slumber in hidden cracks beneath the surface.

At night the lullaby breaks- the snap of bone, oozing out into the darkness like marrow. It is the flash of eyes in the trees, silence pierced by a warning growl. It is the warm slip of blood under the reproachful eyes of the moon.

Mason Pines, not yet finished with his magical studies and too curious for his own good, finds comfort in the forest at any time. Most mages his age are content to stay within the safe borders of the town, bonding to a familiar and learning the same magic as their parents.

Mason isn’t content with that, has never been. He hears the call within the woods and is more than willing to answer it. His magic vibrates there, sparking in his palms like it can’t be contained. He supposes that if the woods have an entity, they connect with his core magic perfectly.

The teen is perched on a low branch of a particularly bare-boned conifer, observing his surroundings through the sparse needles.

A feircat, the subject of his focus, snuffles through a pile of damp leaves, seeking out the vole it had cornered.

Mason takes note of the needle-sharp teeth curled behind a tiny maw, humming thoughtfully.

“I’m not sure who’s more yawn-inducing to watch, you or the feircat.”

Mason doesn’t startle in the tree, barely lifts his eyes to the interruption.

Brown eyes settle upon a humanoid figure, drinking in the tall form of a dark and gold man. He hovers in a nearby tree, shrouded in shadows, light catching on sword-point teeth and amber eyes.

“Perhaps it’s you.”

The man tilts his head, eyes narrowing. “Perhaps. Or perhaps you should be more careful with that tongue of yours.”

Mason’s eyes have drawn away, back to the feline below. “Perhaps.”

The being laughs, like glass shattering. “The name’s Cipher.”

If the boy recognises the name, he doesn’t react. “Alright.”

Minutes pass is silence as the woods begin to dim with the beginning of twilight. When Mason finally lifts his gaze, he’s alone.

He lets out a shuddering laugh, an exhilarating curiosity blooming in his chest.

He jumps to the ground on silent feet, darting back to the shack with a grin.

He has some questions.

…

The dying light of Apollo slips through the triangular window of his room, a soft glow upon the worn pages of the book in his lap.

It’s his Great Uncle’s journal, filled with every creature, location, plant, and magical current in the forest.

The page he’s flipped to is titled ‘Cipher’, but aside from a detailed drawing of metallic, almost feline eyes, the entry doesn’t shed much light on the odd entity.

Most of the passages have been hastily scribbled over with warnings to stay away at all cost.

Mason hums low in his throat, intrigued. He’s always liked a challenge.

There is a single sentence, smudged, but not completely wiped away, that gives him something to work with.

** _Do _ ** ** _not_ ** ** _ fall asleep around him._ **

That sounds like an invitation if Mason has ever heard one.


	2. I.

Mason waits until the downstairs light flicks off, signaling his Great Uncle Stan is finally heading to bed.

The uneven rhythm of heavy footsteps is followed by the ‘click’ of a door closing.

Mason grins to himself and eases out of his bed, feet silent on the old floorboards.

He opens his palm, conjuring fire with a single thought before he opens the latch of his window.

The pane slides outward with a slight hiss, bringing a cold wind that caresses his cheeks.

He spare a glance at the ground, willing it to soften, then steps off the edge of the window.

It shuts behind him without a noise as he strolls across the yard to the treeline.

The moonlight slips off his shoulders once he passes into the inky shadows of the woods. They pool and shift around the roots of the trees, serpentine wisps.

Mason lifts his hand higher, white fire casting an eerie glow across his surroundings.

“What a stupidly interesting human.”

Mason’s lips tug upwards at the smoky voice. He doesn’t reply, choosing to slip further into the forest.

A silent presence tracks his movement.

He drops his hand, extinguishing the flame as a clearing opens up before him, shimmering vaguely.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

Mason snorts softly at the voice, eyes searching for a soft patch of moss. “I’m not the one hiding.”

It chuckles ominously, and an exciting thrill of fear bleeds through his system.

He finds softer ground underneath a gnarled old tree, sinks to the velvet bed with a sigh.

“You never told me your name earlier.”

“I know.”

A laugh, or a snarl, just above his head. “Oh. you’re quite the impertinent little thing, aren’t you?”

Mason leans back on his elbows, grinning lightly. “So I’ve been told.”

The leaves rustle before stilling. There, some feet up the trunk- a clawed hand, dipped in darkness.

“Mason Pines.”

A hum, staccato vibrations. “A little Pine Tree, how interesting.”

The teen closes his eyes, lips twitching as he lays back.

“That’s an insanely stupid idea.”

“Those are my favourite ones. They’re the only ones that are fun.”

Shifting, claws scraping down bark.

Mason doesn’t open his eyes even when he feels hot breath ghost across his face. He focuses his magic around his conscience, tugging at the ribbon until it unfurls.

His limbs are paralysed, his magic has been locked away out of his reach, and breathing is the hardest thing he’s ever done. He’d laugh if he could. It’s a fairly simple spell, effective as hell, and equally as illegal.

_ A death trance. _

Cipher snarls out a laugh. “Of course you would still be able to communicate, little tree.”

Mason gasps non-verbally when he feels magic prod at his mind, cold and crackling.

_ W-what are you doing? _

Cipher clearly laughs at that, bright and high-pitched. “Are you scared, my dear Pine Tree?”

Mason tries to assess his feelings, consumed by the magic wrapping around everything in him.

_ I don’t think so? _

The magic stills. “You’d know if you were.”

_ Then no. _

“You continue to surprise me, little tree. Perhaps I won’t kill you.”

_ That would be preferred. _

“Then why did you come here? Were you not warned?”

_ I was. But I was also curious. _

Mason shivers when a hand cups his cheek, long, clawed fingers gripping his jaw. “You’re quite the pretty human. More magically inclined than I’ve seen in millennia. Have you any idea of your potential?”

The boy would shrug if he could.

_ I suppose. Potential isn’t worth much in Gravity Falls. _

A low moan of pain slips past his lips as Cipher relinquishes his hold on him. Having his magic return to him is like waking a sleeping limb, sharp jabs of pain race across his entire body.

The creature laughs, “You’re pain sounds so beautiful.”

Mason glares at him, ready to snap out a reply, but the words die on his tongue. Cipher sits before him on bent knees, something otherworldly and demonic. He is beautiful in the same way that a sword is. Cold, sharp, and deadly.

Cipher watches him with wary eyes, head tilting to the side. The movement shifts his blonde hair so that in falls in front of his right eye.

“What are you?”

Cipher bares his teeth, eyes sparkling. “Now there’s a good question.”

Mason eyes the dark skin of his arms. From fingertip to bicep, Cipher looks like he’s been dipped in ink. His legs appear much the same.

The teen reaches out a hesitant hand, eyes flicking up as Cipher snarls. “Oh hush, I’m not going to hurt you.”

Cipher blinks, startled by the reprimand, before his lips settle into something that oddly resembles a pout.

Mason takes his silence as an invitation to continue. His hand is small and pale compared to Cipher’s, and he lifts a long digit to inspect a claw. The skin beneath his fingers is cold, and thrums, like Cipher’s magic is barely contained within his body.

“You’re very powerful, aren’t you?”

The creature snorts, lip curling in distaste. “Not as much as I used to be.”

Mason leans back, pulling his hand away. “What happened?”

The demonic creature bristles, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Yes.”

Cipher huffs, growling low in his chest. “They took something from me.”

Mason turns his gaze to the sky, thinking as he brushes his hand across the moss beneath him. “Have you tried getting it back?”

Cipher is on him in a second, pinning his shoulder to the tree and snarling like a wild animal. Mason reaches a hand out, smoothing it down Cipher’s arm. He recognises hurt when he sees it.

Cipher pulls away quickly as if he’s been burned. “It’s not that easy, Pine Tree. They murdered my soul.”

Mason tilts his head, confused, but toys with the information. “Literally or figuratively?”

“Yes.”

“Cipher.”

The creature’s eyes snap up to meet his.

“I’ll help you, if you’d like.”

Cipher stands, looking away as a laugh catches in his throat. “I was right. You’re a stupid child. Be lucky I let you live, I won’t spare you again.”

Mason watches him melt into the trees, grinning at the retreating figure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter because the prologue was so short!  
This story fascinates me so much, but I'm having difficulties actually writing it. I'm thinking it'll get a bit easier once I actually start to reveal certain things.  
I hope you enjoyed♡


	3. II.

His sister corners him at the base of the stairs when he returns- smelling of dirt and moonlight.

“Brother.”

Brown eyes, much softer and kinder than his own pin him in place.

“Sister.”

She sighs, “The forest, again?”

He rolls his shoulder, face blank. “Where else?”

She turns her face to the side as she sucks air in through her teeth. The night’s glow leaves her face statuesque.

“You put yourself at risk every time you go in there.”

Mason brushes past her, laying a hand on her shoulder. “Do you really believe that?”

She keeps her face turned away from him, bow lips pulled down as her forehead creases. “No.”

“Goodnight, Mabel.”

“Night.”

He swiftly shuts his door once in his bedroom, a grin splitting his face.

…

Mason’s dreams are plagued by the whisper of inked skin and dangerously sharp teeth. He wakes to the echo of shattered laughter .

None of this bothers him like it should.

He rolls over in his sheets, oddly cool for the summer, and stretches out his limbs. Sunlight licks at his skin, reflecting over the room brightly. 

The calm hours are cut sharply by the taste of blood magic. It sits heavy on his tongue- copper and ozone.

He folds his sheets back, padding over to the large window overlooking the forest. In the bottom right corner sits a small rune, an ancient symbol he can’t quite place. He presses a single finger to the spot, listening to the hum of magic.

He pulls his hand back with a hiss, startled by the sheer power of the tiny design. Laughter spills from his lips shortly after. There isn’t much magic left in the world that is obscured from him, what with his insatiable hunger for learning everything available to him.

The brief touch gave him one other hint. The tang of lemon still sits sweetly on his tongue, the magical imprint of the caster. The same flavour had flooded his system last night when Cipher had placed him in a death trance.

Something else lingers just under the citrus, unidentifiable to the young mage.

He copies the rune onto a spare sheet of paper before heading to the first level of the house.

Mabel doesn’t meet his eyes when he walks past the kitchen, and a vague guilt eats at him. Later, he promises himself. Later he’ll apologise.

“Have you seen Great Uncle Ford?”

She waves her hand in the direction of the basement.

He purses his lips, but let’s it go. He supposes he deserves that, if he’s being honest.

He descends the creaky stairs into his great uncle’s cave-like lab. The old man is creepily obsessed with science, and the staleness of the air always makes Mason’s skin crawl.

“Great Uncle Ford? I have a question for you.”

Ford steps out of the small side office, nose buried in a book. “Yes, my boy? What is it?”

Mason shakes his head at his great uncle, “I found an interesting rune. It’s old enough that I don’t recognise it, and I can’t sense it’s intention.”

Ford looks up then, intrigued. “ _ You _ aren’t able to sense it? Well, it must be very old, indeed.”

Pride blooms in his chest momentarily as he hold the sheet of paper out. “I’m guessing it’s one of the old magical languages of the gods.”

Ford studies the paper for a second before bustling back into his office, beckoning his great nephew to follow.

He begins rummaging through the books on an adjacent shelf, fingers roving over the titles before stopping at a thin, tattered book. The pages crack suspiciously when he opens it, flipping through the stiff paper.

“Aha!”

His great uncle sets the book down on his desk, pointing to the open section. Delicate runes are scribbled across the surface, more intricate than any Mason has ever seen. He finds the correlating symbol, a ridged circle framed by spikes of flame. In the center sits an elaborate eye.

“Do these have translations?”

Ford grunts, heading back over to his bookcase. Within seconds he finds the book he’s looking for, thick and brightly bound in gold. It’s title is unnecessarily lengthy, but promises the translation and explanation of primordial languages, magical ones included.

Ford flips through as Mason traces the rune. The magical precision needed to pull of a rune this intricate is more than anyone in this town could muster up, present company excluded.

“Here.”

Ford pushes the book towards him, face ashen in the fluorescent lighting.

Mason scans the passage, frowning at the old english. It seems to be suggesting that the rune acts as a warning and protection simultaneously.

“Where did you find that rune, boy?”

“In the woods.” The lie rolls of his tongue easily.

“Well, I suggest you stay away from whatever part of the forest you found that in, because whatever put that up isn’t something to be trifled with.”

Mason hums in thought. “Great Uncle Ford?”

Ford is returning the books to their shelves, but pauses. “Yes, Mason?”

“Do you believe in the old gods?”

Ford blanches and turns away. “Yes, I do. They exist and they are a force to be reckoned with, trust me.”

Mason folds the sheet of paper into a tiny square, slipping it into his pocket. “I do. Thank you, Ford.”

Ford doesn’t reply, watching the boy warily as he climbs the stairs.

…

“Ci-i-ipher.”

Mason’s voice melts into the trees, twisting into the vines.

Claws wrap around his throat, pressing into soft flesh as a growl breezes across the back of his neck. “I thought I told you I wouldn’t spare you a second time.”

Mason lifts up the square of paper. “Then explain this.”

Cipher’s growl stills, confused. “A piece of parchment?”

Mason lifts up a hand with a sigh, tapping the fingers around his neck. “Be civil, please.”

The chill of Cipher’s razor-sharp fingers disappears. 

“You are testing my patience, little tree.”

Mason twists around to meet the creature’s eyes. “And you are testing mine, but you don’t see me making death threats. Now sit down and be quiet until I ask you to speak.”

Cipher’s lips curl back, but Mason draws a finger up to them to shush him.

The teen slowly unfolds the paper between them, turning it around so Cipher can see the rune. “You placed this on my window last night. Don’t deny it, I know your magical signature. I want to know why. I’m guessing that I’m unlike most humans you meet, and that intrigues you. My offer to help you still stands, even more so now that I know you must be some sort of god.”

Cipher’s face is oddly devoid of emotion, but his eyes are roiling like riptides. “Your ego does not become you, Pine Tree.”

Mason chuckles, a soft smile gracing his lips. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

Cipher looks away, “I was a god once, and now I don’t know what I am or what I’ve become.”

Mason taps the paper. “And the rune?”

Cipher’s nose crinkles. “I don’t know.”

Mason sighs, shoving it back in his pocket without folding it. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me anything.”

Glass eyes cut through him, “Then don’t.”

“That’s not an option.”

Cipher runs a hand through his hair in frustration, chest rumbling. “You remind me of him, and I would have done anything to protect him, so I put the stupid rune up because that’s what felt right. I can’t explain it because there isn’t a rational answer.”

Mason cocks his head, desperately wanting to ask who Cipher is talking about, but he knows when to cut his losses.

“Alright.”

Cipher shoots him an incredulous look before his head jerks to the left. “You should leave.”

“Why?”

Cipher snarls viciously, shoving the boy’s chest. “Because Strange is coming, you stupid human, now get out of here before I kill you myself.”

Mason laughs brightly at the broken god, “I’m not scared of anything.”

Cipher is growling, but his eyes are fixated on the trees in front of him. Mason places a hand between Cipher’s shoulder blades, feeling the heated skin beneath the thin fabric. He traces a rune above Cipher’s skin, a modified version of the design etched into his window.

Cipher’s startled gasp is the last thing Mason hears before he transports himself to the edge of the forest. The amount of magic it takes to cross the large distance leaves him breathless for a moment, and his head spins.

His fingers itch, like they know the rune he just created was something that belonged to him. His mind aches, not from teleporting, and he returns home with the strong feeling that he has already drawn the rune before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are finally picking up! I have some very big plans for the little gem, and I'm excited to set them in place as soon as possible  
If you have any theories or predictions, let me know!


	4. III.

Once his mouth stops tasting like ash and his head settles, Mason rises from his crouch.

Something like nervous excitement thrums through his veins, an unusual emotion for the teen.

He gazes back through the trees, imagining what Cipher was so worried about. Someone called Strange, most likely another god.

An idea sparks in his mind then, because he knows next to nothing about the old gods, and there is one place everyone goes to find information. 

The walk takes a few minutes, but soon enough the brick building of the library stands tall before him.

A tickling chime greets him when he enters, and the librarian avoids his eyes.

He makes his way to the back, passing the normal shelves of books until he reaches the section of the library dedicated to anything magical. The small shelf that holds books on deities is almost bare, and thickly coated in dust.

Mason ‘tsk’s, muttering a curse before blowing the dust away as best he can.

Many of the books are older than the town, but it shouldn’t matter where primordial gods are concerned.

He pulls the most promising ones aside, curling up in a corner of the dark room to pour over the pages.

The leather hardback on top is thicker than his arm, and seems to detail the entire history of magical creation.

Mason skims through the first few chapters, more than familiar with the birth of the universe. The nothingness of everything began when Sha woke from their eternal slumber. They were never supposed to wake, according to lore, but their dreams were woven into reality when they did. An entire universe, life, existence itself, all bore from The Great Unknown.

Mason snorts as he reads it, because even in a magical world this was too unbelievable. He flips the page, brushing his thumb along the softened edge as an illustration greets him. Brilliant tendrils of magic essence, orbiting around the formless imagined idea of Sha. The birth of the gods.

Mason drinks in the words written as if he has never seen them before. 

_ The great and magnificent Sha, creator of all that exist, was the origin of the major gods. They began as magical essence, for gods have no souls, and through Sha each deity was given a purpose. The main gods have always existed, tasked with their own form of reign over humanity, and through history we have recognised them. Their names change often through time and culture, but they are always the same. Death is still death, no matter their name, we have always acknowledged this. _

Mason flips forward a few pages, bored by the ambiguity of the text. The author doesn’t ever name the gods, from what he can see, more focused on listing their godly roles. He sets the book aside to sort through the others. He almost smacks himself when he sees the second to last book:  _ The Complete Guide to the Gods _ .

Unfortunately for him, the book doesn’t seem to have any sort of logical order, so finding Cipher takes longer than he had anticipated.

He finds him near the back of the book, and the wickedly sharp smile that greets him feels familiar. Cipher stands tall and proud in the painted illustration, eyes gleaming and skin glowing. His inky arms are spread wide, twin flames of blue fire hovering above each palm. He truly looks a god here, adorned in thick robes of dark velvet, neck laden with golden chains. 

Cipher look just as he does in the forest, at least on the outside. Mason drags a finger over the page, wondering what broke inside.

His eyes flick to the top of the page, greeted by the gods title and universal role. 

_ God of dreams and nightmares. _

The words should hold some weight with him, but his eyes can’t pull away from the following sentence.

_ Perfect essence-bond with _

Mason blinks, trying to understand why the page blurs around the name that should sit in the sentence. He realises with a start that whatever name is written has been obscured with a secrecy charm. Fortunately, whoever placed it was only interested in covering the name, as the correlating page number has been left alone.

Mason quickly flips to the page mentioned, and the headache that blossoms in the forefront of his mind from the power behind the cloaking spell is intense. The entire spread wavers in front of him, shifting like light on the surface of water.

He brings a hand to his forehead, trying to push through whatever is hiding the pages. The spell lessens, but doesn’t completely break its hold. It still feels like he’s looking through water, but a vague form is visible. Curls of hair, dripping with gems, dark eyes, equally dark robes, a sparkling god draped in silver. Mason can’t tell who the god is supposed to be, but he flips the page when the stabbing in his head increases.

He decides to return to Cipher’s page, hoping it can shed light on the bitter deity. 

Many of the passages detail his involvement in human dreams, how he shapes them to his whims. Apparently he was even capable of being a direct line to the gods through dreams, though he didn’t often allow it.

Just as the last passage begins to be of use, as it starts to describe Cipher’s fall, the pressure in his head returns, stronger than before.

Mason slams the book shut in a fit of annoyance, hissing at the pain behind his eyes. It begins to ebb when the page is out of sight.

A frown curls on his face as he leans back, folding his arms. He notes idly as he gazes out the window that the light has begun waning.

“M-mister Pines? I hope I’m not bothering you, but-”

Mason turns to the librarian, who promptly cuts off when their eyes meet. Typical.

“I suppose you’ll be closing soon, Myra?”

Her eyes widen further, “Yes, Mister Pines, my apologies.”

He rises, returning the books to their dusty shelf. “That’s fine, I was hitting a block in the road anyways.”

The young woman doesn’t reply, choosing to scurry off as he leaves. 

He has long since become used to how everyone avoids him, but their anxiety in his presence still bothers him. Ford is just as magically talented, is even what some would call eccentric, yet he is treated no different from the rest of the town.

Mason shakes his head, scowling. Let them fear him if they like, he can’t change their minds.

His sour mood doesn’t fade as he makes his way back to the shack, until he spots Mabel curled up on the worn couch, back to the door. The same guilt from the morning gnaws at his stomach, and he clears his throat.

“Mabel.”

She jumps slightly, turning to him with large, sad eyes.

He sighs, walking over to join her on the couch. “I’m sorry that I worry you, because you are very dear to me. I can’t promise you that I won’t continue to visit the forest, but I can promise that I’m safe.”

She purses her lips, confused. “How can you promise that?”

Mason chuckles softly, looking away. “Let’s just say I have someone looking out for me.”

Mabel’s eyes immediately brighten, and a knowing smirk plays at her lips. “Oh, I see. How unconventional, brother.”

He raises an eyebrow, “I’m not sure what you intend to imply, but you’d better stop that.”

His sister hides her grin behind her hand, and despite himself his own small grin begins to form.

Mabel pulls him in for a gentle hug, and he takes a moment to melt into the affection. She smells of sunlight and primrose, a warm, sweet scent that reminds him of home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I say this with every story I write, but I have such big plans for this story. Plus, I've run the ideas by a few friends, and they seemed really excited by it!


	5. IV.

A hazy darkness envelopes him, dotted with small points of light.

A clawed hand rubs soothing circles into his back. The owner sits pressed flush to him.

“You are my little star.”

“I am more than just a single star, that’s demeaning.”

A warm hand caresses his face.

“It was supposed to be romantic.”

He huffs, “I guess I could accept that.”

A pair of shockingly dark arms, inked like tattoos, wrap around him.

“You are my dream, do you know that?”

He laughs, clear and bright, like moonlight on water. “I do.”

Sharpened teeth playfully nip at his neck.

“Will you not tell me I am yours?”

He smiles, “Your very existence compliments mine. Without you, I have no meaning to life or humanity. You aren’t my dream. You are my reason to live.”

The presence behind him purrs. ‘Oh, you do know how to flatter me just so, my lovely star.”

He is turning then, the jewels in his hair clinking with the motion, but a violent headache stops him. It pulses in his mind, angry. He can’t look behind him, nor down at his own hands.

The hazy darkness has become solid, pressing in and choking him.

The warm arms are gone, replaced by cold chains.

He cries out, a name slipping past his lips that he can’t hear.

He is alone, and for once he doesn’t find comfort in the solitude.

Mason wakes, gasping for air, lighting fire in his palm as he calms his breathing.

His throat feels tight from the biting memory of cold chains, and his heart is racing faster than it ever has.

His heart stutters when he notices that he’s in his bed, not on the couch where he fell asleep.

The slip of sky showing through his triangular window is dusky. Night is just giving up its hold.

He slides out of his sheets and tiptoes down the stairs, mildly surprised to find the kitchen light on.

Ford is slumped at the table, a cup of stale coffee sits amidst the sheets of paper around him.

“Great Uncle Ford? You’re up early. Or late.”

His uncle startles, looking up with tired eyes.

“Oh. Mason, my boy, I wasn’t expecting you.’

Mason hums, crossing the small kitchen to sit across from his uncle.

“I woke up in my bed.” 

Ford’s eyes don’t bother to raise from his papers as he pulls them closer.

“Ah, is that so? Yes, I moved you last night.”

“Why?”

“I figured you would find it more comfortable.”

Mason squints his eyes, “You’ve never done that before.”

Ford lays his hands flat on the table, meeting his gaze. “You never had that godly rune carved in blood on your window before.”

Mason laughs, tilting his head back. “Fair enough, How’d you find out?”

Ford drums his fingers, bushy brows furrowing. “Mason, do you take me for a stupid man?”

Mason grins, “Definitely not, but I had more faith in my ability to lie.”

Ford frowns, “That’s not reassuring, Mason.”

The boy’s grin shrinks and he shrugs. “No, I guess not. What do you think of it?”

Ford’s eyes cut through him like steel. “I think you’ve gotten yourself into some serious trouble. Gods are not something you want to mess with.”

Mason leans forward, intrigued. “And what if I do?”

Ford rises so quickly that his nephew angles away in shock. “You may be incredibly talented, beyond even myself, and you may be intelligent in most aspects of life, but that is the single most foolish idea you could ever have. If you plan on consorting with gods, count me out. I’ve had enough for a lifetime.”

Mason watches him leave, head tilted. He’s become quite great at upsetting his family as of late.

…

Mason stays away from the forest for three days before the pressure builds to an intolerable itch that he can’t ignore.

The moon convinces him to go, which isn’t shocking. The moon often speaks to him, draws him in like the tides.

He slips out his open window into the bright light, welcoming the chill the night brings. 

Mason doesn’t immediately step into the woods, toeing the line of trees with something dancing in his chest. It feels like a creature has woken inside of him and is wrestling his lungs and heart for control.

His fingers twitch, his only movement, and his ragged breath cuts through the air in soft white clouds.

“Are you finally gaining some sense?”

Mason’s eyes flick upwards, landing on a dark pair of legs resting in a tree. The rest of Cipher is obscured by needles.

“No, I think the opposite is happening. I’m losing any sense I had.”

Cipher’s hand comes down to grab the branch, and he pulls himself down swiftly. His eyes rival the luminescent moon easily.

“Why do you say that?”

Mason is still on the edge of the forest, head tilting as his mind threatens to heave in on itself. “I had a dream.”

“And? I believe that’s normal for your kind.”

Mason shoots him a hidden look. “Not for me. I don’t dream. I sleep and then I wake.”

Cipher hums, a low rumble. “Are you sure you just don’t remember them?”

The mage nods, eyes tired and distant. “I’m positive.”

A silence hangs before them for a moment, wavering before Mason interrupts it. “I wasn’t myself.”

Cipher leans against the tree, claw working under a small shield of bark. “It’s odd, but not uncommon. Humans often dream themselves as another.”

“You were there.”

Cipher turns his face away from the light. “How cute, Pine Tree.”

Mason tries not to bare his teeth in annoyance. “It wasn’t like that. I knew you, and you knew me. It wasn’t a dream was it?”

The god laughs cruelly. “What are you hoping for?”

“I’m not hoping for anything. I think it was a memory.”

Cipher whips his head towards him, jerking forward a step. That cruel laugh is back, rolling around them. “What memory could you have of me, dear little human?”

Mason frowns, the creature in his chest howling. “That’s what I’m asking you.”

Cipher steps closer, capturing Mason’s jaw in his cold hand, tilting the boy’s chin up to meet his eyes. “You are nothing to me, and have never been anything to me, so perhaps you should go back to not dreaming.”

The creature in Mason’s chest is silent, his heart is beating rapidly, and he can’t form a single thought in his mind as he peers up into Cipher’s eyes. They’re both shocked by the broken sound that rips from his throat.

The small noise is all Mason needs to break from Cipher’s hold, blindly shoving his hands into a warm chest as his feet move on their own. Away from Cipher. Away from the forest. Away from his thoughts. Away, away, away.

Mason is stunned by the emotions curling around inside him. He’s always been oddly vacant in terms of feeling, but now everything has begun crashing to pieces, flooding out of a shattered dam.

An animalistic pain rips through his lungs, choking him, and hot tears sting his cheeks. The rapidly cooling tracks along his face are foreign. He had never cried as a baby. He hadn’t cried when he was seven and broke his arm. He hadn’t even cried three years ago when his parents had died. The action had never been available to him before.

Despite the oddity of the tears, they don’t feel like his own. Just like the dream memory. It’s as if he’s experiencing someone else’s sorrow.

He collapses just outside the shack, legs folding as he slams into the wood of the building. He curls into the shadow from the overhang, pulling away from the silver pool of the moon. 

He can’t calm his drowning lungs, gasping.

“Pine Tree.”

Mason’s brows crease, watery eyes blinking up at Cipher in surprise. A scowl tugs at his mouth. “What are you doing here? Go away.”

Cipher looks confused, as if he doesn’t understand it himself. “Are you crying?”

Mason drags hand across his cheeks, pulling it away to watch him palm glisten. “Yes, I suppose that is what is happening.”

“Why?”

Mason shrugs, gaze still locked on the wetness spread across his hand. “I don’t know. Why did you come here?”

Cipher stills, looming above him. “I don’t know either.”

Mason wipes his hand on his thigh, pressing down on his leg to focus on something else. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“There are a lot of things I don’t tell people.”

“You can’t keep everyone out forever.”

Cipher growls, eyes narrowing. “Yes I can.”

Mason reaches up, quickly tugging at Cipher’s hand to pull the god down to his level. Cipher tumbles to the ground in a sprawl of long limbs and a low snarl.

“Do. Not. Fucking. Push. Me. Away.”

They both stare at the other, seething. Cipher yanks his hand from Mason’s, but stays balanced on his knees.

“Why do you want to help me?”

“Why do you want to protect me?”

Cipher bites the inside of his cheeks, breathing deeply as he closes his eyes. “I don’t know, I’ve already told you. You remind me of him, and that’s enough for my essence to act on its own.”

Mason curls into himself tighter. “Then you feel it too? The pull?”

Cipher shrugs, which isn’t enough of an answer to clarify whether or not he does. Mason huffs sharply, pulling himself off the ground.

“I want to help you Cipher, but you seem to only bring pain and misery with you. Is it worth it?.”

Mason stiffly walks to the front of the shack, not bothering to look back at the god.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll probably upload again shortly, because I've already got two full chapters drafted  
Mason has become much easier to write recently, so the story is coming along faster now!


	6. V.

Mason can’t help but stare out the kitchen window longingly.

A blank notebook sits before him, open to a fresh page, pen uncapped beside it. He had intended to set about creating some hybrid spells for Ford’s research, but his eyes keep drifting, and his thoughts are even further away.

He must have a strange look on his face, because Mabel pauses when she steps into the kitchen, hand hovering over the door handle of the fridge.

“Mason? Are you alright?”

Her voice stirs a fierce warmth in him, and the echo of bubbling laughter rings in his head. His toes can almost remember the feel of dewy grass as he twirls around, dancing.

He tries to laugh, but the sound dies in his throat. “I’m not sure, if I’m being honest.”

She drops her hand, stepping over to the table in an instant to wrap him in a hug.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Her question is hesitant, afraid to push too much.

He reaches a hand up, hollowly smoothing it over her hair. “I’m not sure I’m me. I’m not sure I’ve ever been me. I’ve never felt right in anything I do, and now...” He trails off, shaking his head. “Now I feel like someone I’m not and someone I used to be, and I think I’m falling apart.”

Mabel stills in his hold, but he can’t see her face from where it presses into his shoulder.

Her voice is barely a whisper, “You feel like someone else?”

He nods, and she yanks away, pulling his face into her hands, searching with hopeful eyes.

“So you trust me, brother?”

Mason presses his tongue against his teeth, pushing hard, but nods. “I do.”

She beams at him, but it’s soft and fragile. “Can you try to dig into that? Maybe don’t…” She bites her lip. “Don’t fight it?”

He sends her an odd look, confused but gives a vague shrug of agreement. “If you think it’ll help, I don’t see why not.”

Mabel smiles before leaving the kitchen, apparently having forgotten why she came in the first place.

Mason watches her go with a steady gaze.

…

Mason doesn’t stop watching his sister for the rest of the day. She seems on edge, more jittery than usual.

When her door creaks open after midnight, he knows why.

He sees her sneak down the stairs before he pushes open his window to jump out.

The shadows under his window hide him perfectly as he watches Mabel practically dance into the forest.

“Hm, what are you doing, dear sister?”

He waves a hand in her direction, picking up her signature to create a tracking spell. A wispy tendril of orange light floats inches above the ground, awaiting his cue. He allows a minute or two to pass before setting off after Mabel.

The trees groan around him as he walks among them, and the sharp taste of an oncoming storm sits heavy on his tongue. 

He makes his way through the forest at a leisurely pace, feet light over the snapping leaves. He hardly makes a noise, aside from the gentle rhythm of his breathing.

Hushed whispers unfold before him, and he glides between the shadows to move closer. 

He can just make out the cascade of Mabel’s long hair, sees the edge of her face in the dim light. The euphoria painted across her face is unlike any he’s ever seen before, ethereal and consuming.

“...beginning to remember finally, I believe.”

A dark chuckle rumbles through the air, followed by words so quite Mason can’t make them out. He curses under his breath, daring to shift closer.

“Well, of course it is, but I won’t let the same mistakes be made twice. I’ll kill them before I let them hurt him again.”

Mason tilts his head, trying to understand, a chill creeping up his spine at the sharp response.

“You’re beautiful when you’re mad, _ mon petit soleil _ .”

The chill turns into full blown shaking, because the voice sounds just like Cipher, and the caged animal in his chest is screaming, pounding against his ribs, because that’s wrong, wrong, wrong.

Mason turns, unable to hear anything over the rush of blood in his ears. White hot flames are licking over his fingers, and it’s all he can do to walk away without burning the entire forest to ash. 

He forces air through his heaving lungs, attempting to calm down. Why should he even be upset at Cipher being so familiar with his sister? He doesn’t even know Cipher.

_ But, you do _ . A small voice whispers in his head.

Mason lets out a whining growl, hands slamming into a tree. His hands sink into the trunk, melting through years of growth, flames eating into everything he touches. He draws his hands away sharply when he hears the tree crying out. Its pleas fall silent as the black rot of burns spreads, and Mason chokes back a noise of disgust.

_ You ruin everything you touch. You hold too much magic. You must be destroyed. _

Fragments of memories rush around him, and he stumbles, trying not to be devoured by them.

A name threatens to spill from his mouth, cloaked in secrecy, and his head is pounding, rapid beating so thick and loud that thinking is impossible.

Cool hands frame his face, and his eyes roll back into his head as reassurances are kissed across his cheeks. His body falls limp in strong arms, magic locked away so swiftly that he nearly cries.

His nerves are buzzing, sizzling and flickering like a live wire. Icy nails are dragging along his arms in familiar patterns, halting every now and then.

An angry tongue cuts through the calm. “What are you doing, poking around like that? Are you trying to kill yourself?”

Cipher.

Rage boils over, and Mason is thrashing in the god's hold so quickly that he tumbles to the ground, pain lancing through him.

Cipher stands above him with awe etched into every elegant feature. “How did you release yourself?”

Mason curls his limbs closer to himself, glaring. “Why do you care?”

Cipher’s admiration sours, lips pulling over sharp teeth. “Because humans aren’t capable of it.”

“Why aren’t you with Mabel? You appear to enjoy her company more.”

Mason is practically snarling, and Cipher’s golden eyes swirl in confusion.

“Who?”

“My sister. Your  _ little sun _ .”

Cipher’s face is blank for a second, before recognition flickers across the surface. “Oh. Oh, you mean…’

Mason turns his glare to the ground, trying to understand why he’s so angry. He should be happy for Mabel. He doesn’t even know Cipher. What’s wrong with him?

Cipher bends down, head cocked to the side. “Mabel, your sister, does not mean anything to me in that sense. The one I cared for, the one who was my everything, is gone.”

Mason’s heart slows, and the bitterness turns somber. “Oh.”

Cipher sighs, looking away. “Why are you so upset?”

Mason shrugs, unsure. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything recently. Ever since-” He pauses, gazing at the god’s side profile. “Ever since I met you things have started to unravel, and I don’t know how to stitch them back together.”

Thunder rolls across the sky, quickly followed by the cracking flash of lighting. The heavens open up then, tears pouring from the dark clouds in a thick curtain. 

Mason raises his face, blinking away the rain as he searches for even a single star between the clouds.

Cipher sucks in a breath, an injured noise. “You should leave.”

Mason’s eyes linger on the night sky a second longer before they fall to the god’s face. “Why must I always leave?”

Cipher shakes his head with a bitter laugh. “It’s not safe for you here. You’re lucky Strange didn’t catch you eavesdropping.”

Mason blinks slowly, “That was Strange with my sister?”

Cipher nods.

Mason’s chest loosens minutely. “Why isn’t she in danger from him?”

A smile curls at Cipher’s lip. “I think she might ask the same of you with me. Don’t worry about her, she’s much more capable than you give her credit for.”

Mason slowly climbs to his feet, stumbling when his legs tremble. Cipher’s dark arm reaches out faster than he can blink. They both stare at his clawed hand, wrapped tightly around Mason’s bicep.

Cipher pulls his hand away quickly once Mason is steady. “Go home, little tree.”

Mason complies without a word, chancing a glance back at the god. His eyes flash in the lightning, bewilderment etched so deeply in his features that he could be a statue.

_ Mon étoile. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who started a new story? This guy! (awkward GF reference)  
In all seriousness, I need to be stopped

**Author's Note:**

> This is my third billdip fic in a month and I may be going crazy, but I'm having a blast doing it!
> 
> This is a very short introductory chapter, but I imagine things will kick off after this


End file.
